Reunited
by Queen Alysanne
Summary: Arya has become a potential First Sword of Braavos when a raven reaches her from King's Landing from Queen Daenerys herself. The letter contains information regarding her sister, Sansa, and a request for Arya to come to King's Landing to attend court, but what she finds there could change her entire future against her will. First fic, multi-chapter, please give feedback. Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

The salt spray from the waves beneath the ship was cold on Arya's face, but welcome after the stuffy confines of her cabin below decks. The sun was slowly rising on the horizon to her left, turning the clouds above her pink and gold, but neither the beauty of the sunrise nor the sea could help calm her restlessness. She desperately wanted to reach the capitol, but she was apprehensive of what would happen once she got there. Had it really only been a moon's turn since she had learned?

When Arya had heard the news, she was shocked into speechlessness. Sansa, her elder sister, was alive and in King's Landing. The message the raven had sent was signed by the Queen herself, Daenerys Targaryen, and asked that Arya join her sister in King's Landing to discuss matters of state with the small council. With the leave of the Sealord of Braavos, Arya had boarded the first ship she found on its way to Westeros.

 _Moonsinger_ was a sturdy Braavosi trading galley with a painted purple hull and dyed purple sails that was bound for Gulltown, Maidenpool, King's Landing, Sunspear, the Redwyne Straits, and Oldtown before making its way back through the Free Cities. Arya hoped that once they reached Gulltown, she would learn more of the Targaryen queen that had retaken the Iron Throne less than a year ago with the aid of her three dragons, Unsullied forces, and, most strangely, Tyrion Lannister.

They had left Gulltown a fortnight ago and there she had asked several merchants at the docks of news regarding the new queen.

"Made the Imp her Hand, I heard. Keeps him around her day and night to advise and whatnot. He's the one that brought four of the kingdoms over to her side." One fat Tyroshi merchant with a forked green beard told her.

"Three of the kingdoms are still in open rebellion. The Stormlands will never go over so long as Stannis is still after the throne and Highgarden still won't recognize her as the queen. Last I heard, Casterly Rock and the Lannisters were going over terms. If the Imp has his way, all the gold under the Rock will be in the royal vaults before the year's over, mark me." A trader out of Oldtown replied when she asked him how the kingdoms were fairing.

In Maidenpool it had been more of the same. The Queen had assembled the most powerful and intelligent people in the Seven Kingdoms to her, including the infirm but wise Doran Martell; the young lord of Riverrun, Edmure Tully; Petyr Baelish, Regent of the Eerie; Brynden Tully, known as the Blackfish; the grossly fat, but surprisingly shrewd Wyman Manderly; and even, it was whispered, the heir of Robert Baratheon.

The last name had given her pause. How could Daenerys have Robert Baratheon's heir when he never fathered any trueborn children? It had been common knowledge for years that none of Cersei's children had been his. Arya had pondered this for a week since the departure from Maidenpool and she still didn't have any answer, but with King's Landing only a day's journey ahead, she doubted if she'd have time to figure it out.


	2. Chapter 2

The port at King's Landing was a smelly, noisy mess that was easily comparable to a pig sty. Arya struggled to resist the urge to hold her nose, gag, or both as she stepped off the _Moondancer_ and onto the filthy docks. Had it smelled this bad when she had been here as a child? Or had the clean, honest smell of Braavos spoiled her? She decided it was probably a mixture of both as she carefully stepped around something that looked suspiciously like human waste.

There was no retinue waiting for her, but she wasn't surprised. Until the Sealord announced that Arya was going to be the successor of the First Sword of Braavos a year ago, everyone in Westeros thought she was dead. Ahead of her, at the end of the wharf, two guard were flirting with a passing fishmonger. Or perhaps she was a whore. In this part of the city, it was hard to tell. Arya approached the guards and cleared her throat.

"Would one of you find me a horse? I'm expected in the Red Keep."

The younger of the guards looked her up and down, blatantly leering. The older scowled at her.

"Who do you think you are, ordering us around, then? Some lordling's get, are you? You don't look like no high born, you must be one a them bastards that the Queen has been up jumping. Well, you can fuck off. No bastard is going to tell me what to do." The older guard spat a gob of sourleaf phlegm at her feet.

Arya's hand twitched as she fought not to rip her sword, Needle, from its sheath at her hip. Instead, she spoke with daggers in her voice.

"I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, deceased Hand of King Robert. I am the First Sword of Braavos under the Sealord and I will not be spoken to like some dockside fishwife crying the day's catch. You will take me to the Red Keep and deliver me to Queen Daenerys herself, or you can explain why you kept her waiting." Arya hoped they didn't enquire too deep about the First Sword part. She was only in consideration by the Sealord, he hadn't actually told her she had been appointed.

The guards, too stunned to speak, merely stared at her.

"Or should I just kill you myself and save her the trouble?" Arya snapped, grabbing Needle's hilt.

That seemed to get their attention. The younger ran off to find a horse, while the older rounded up more guards to escort her up Aegon's High Hill to the Red Keep. The horse the younger guard brought back was a roan mare with a gentle gait and sweet disposition and the older managed to round up a dozen other guards to form a presentable escort for her. Sometimes a wolf must show her teeth, Arya thought as they scaled the hill.

The Red Keep was much as she remembered it from her days living in the Tower of the Hand when she was just a girl, but inside the throne room the dragons had returned. Along both walls hung the black dragon skulls that Robert Baratheon and his sons had hidden in a cellar for nearly twenty years. Closest to the doors were the skulls of the dragons that belonged to Aegon and his sisters; Meraxes, Vhagar, and Balerion the Black Dread. Balerion's skull was so large that a horse could have been ridden down his gullet and the other two were nearly as huge. Others line the walls, but each one was smaller than the one before and the very last one is no bigger than that of a mastiff.

Apart from the dragon skulls, the throne room was crowded with lords and ladies as well as small folk waiting to making themselves heard. Her guards helped her carve a path to the front of the crowd. One guard broke off from the group, tracked down a herald, and had Arya's name announced for the whole court.

"Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell, First Sword of Braavos." The high, clear voice called, making Arya wince. She should have known better than to say anything about being the First Sword. Now all she could do was to hope that no one would ask any awkward questions.

Her guards escorted her through the remaining press of bodies to the foot of the Iron Throne. Arya knelt down in front of the throne, head bowed, while she awaited the command to rise.

"Lady Stark, we had not hoped to see you here for some time. Your arrival is most welcome and I extend to you the hospitality of Westeros." The voice like liquid gold makes Arya raise her head and gray eyes meet purple.

Daenerys is more resplendent on the Iron Throne than all the merchants in all of Westeros could have been able to describe. She is garbed in a dress light silk dyed pale purple to match her eyes, a belt made of golden medallions cinched at her waist and her silver-gold hair has been elegantly braided. Across her brow, a simple gold circlet set with square-cut amethysts is all that resembles a crown. Arya gapes at her for half a second before regaining her composure.

"Your Grace," She said as she rose from the floor. "I am here to discuss the matters of state you mention in your raven and to see my sister, if it pleases you."

The queen smiled down at Arya she turned to the man in pure white armor who stood at her feet.

"Ser Barristan, I think that will be all for today. Dismiss the court."

Ser Barristan hurried to obey the queen's command and soon the throne room was empty save for Arya, Ser Barristan, Daenerys, and a slender, shorter man sitting at a writing desk below the throne that Arya hadn't noticed before. That must be Petyr Baelish, Arya thought as Daenerys descended the throne. Arya bowed low once again as the queen approached her.

"No need for formalities, Arya, now that the courtly lords and ladies have left us." Daenerys said with a laugh as Arya straightened up.

"Your Grace, my sister-" Arya began.

"Your sister is safe and resting in her chambers. She has a surprise for you when you see her. I won't bore you with state matters until later, if you want to go to her now. Visit with your sister for as long as you want and send word to me when you're ready to join the small council."

"Oh, thank you, Your Grace!" Arya said, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

She took off at a jog toward the door behind the throne that led to the chambers within the Red Keep, but stopped before she had go more than a few feet when she realized she had no idea where she was going.

"Could someone…?" She began, turning around slowly.

Daenerys laughed again and strode across the floor to take Arya's hand.

"I'll lead you there myself."


	3. Chapter 3

Daenerys held Arya's hand all the way to Sansa's chambers, only releasing it once they reached the heavy oak door. The nervousness that had been growing in Arya's belly had reached its peak and she felt as if she was going to be sick. What would Sansa think of her? Would she welcome her with open arms or would she be disappointed, just as she had been when they were children?

"You must be nervous. How long has it been since you last saw her?" Daenerys asked as if she was reading Arya's mind.

"Almost eight years. The last time I saw her was the day my father was beheaded. She didn't see me, though, but I saw her. She was crying and one of Joffrey's Seven was holding her back. I never got to say goodbye to either one of them."

Arya didn't know why she was telling her this, the queen of the Seven Kingdoms of all people. She knuckled away the tears that threatened to spill down her face angrily.

"I never knew your father, but he stayed Robert's hand when he would have otherwise sent hired knives to kill me and my unborn son. Your father saved my life, in a way, and I have grown very close to your sister since she came to court. I owe your family a great deal, the least I could have done was bring two sisters back together again." Daenerys eyes were soft and filled with a kind of compassion that Arya didn't know a stranger could possess.

"Will you go in with me? I... I don't think I can do this one my own."

"Of course."

Daenerys pushed open the thick door and stepped in ahead of Arya. Within, the room was warm, a fire having been lit in the large fireplace in the corner. A huge four poster bed took up most of one side of the room and was laden with feather pillows and blankets, under which a young woman with coppery hair had been sleeping until the door had awakened her. Her pale skin was flushed and a strand of her fine hair was stuck to her forehead with perspiration, but her deep blue eyes were the same as they had always been. She and Arya stared at each other for a moment, too stunned to speak.

"Arya?" The young woman said at last.

"Yes. It's me."

Suddenly Arya was crying and somehow she crossed the room to wrap her arms around the sister she hadn't seen since she was nine. Sansa, too, was crying as she held her little sister and it was some time before either one of them could say anything.

"You look ill, Sansa. Are you alright?" Arya asked, she pulled a chair up next to the bed and Daenerys handed her a glass of wine from the flagon on the counter.

"Yes, I'm alright, but childbirth is quite taxing." Sansa replied with a small chuckle.

Arya nearly spat out her wine and half of it went up her nose.

"Ch-childbirth," Arya stammered as she held her nose to stop the burning. "But, when did you...who did you…?"

"It's rather a long story," Sansa said as she caught Daenerys eye and gave a little half smile. "Lord Petyr arranged a marriage between myself and the heir to the Eerie when he became regent. I wed Harrold Hardyng and when Lord Robert died of a spring fever, Harry became heir to the Eerie. Petyr stepped down as regent and when the last of the snow melts, Harry and I will return with our son."

"But how did you even get to the Eerie? And what does Baelish have to do with anything?"

"Petyr spirited me out of King's Landing on the night of Joffrey's wedding after he was poisoned. I could stay in the capitol because I would be executed for murder, not that I had anything to do with what happened, but it would have been a perfect opportunity for Cersei to behead both Tyrion and I at the same time. I assume you know of my marriage to our Lord of Lannister?"

"That much I know, at least," Arya said, taking a sip of her wine. "But where's this babe you bore? You said he was a boy, right? What's his name?"

"He's with his wet nurse, so that I may have a little rest. It took nearly a day to birth him. I can send for him now, if you'd like to meet your nephew."

Sansa rang the little bell on the table beside her bed and after a few minutes an older woman with the largest breasts Arya had ever seen entered through a discrete door near the back of the room carrying a small bundle swaddled in the colors of House Arryn: pale blue and cream. To Arya's surprise, the woman handed her the bundle before turning back the way she had come.

Babies had always made Arya uneasy. They were too fragile and any wrong move could make them cry, but the one in her arms was fast asleep and barely stirred when he was handed to her.

"He's so tiny." Arya whispered, afraid that speaking too loudly would wake him.

"Don't be scared of breaking him. He's much stronger than you would think. When Harry held him for the first time, he said that he was scared that even breathing on him too hard would hurt him." Sansa looked at her son in her sister's arms with an expression that bordered on reverence.

Arya looked up from the tiny face of her nephew and caught Daenerys looking at them both with eyes filled with an emotion that Arya didn't quite understand.

"Your Grace," She said hesitantly. "Is something amiss?"

The emotion that had clouded Daenerys' eyes a moment ago was gone in an instant and her smile returned.

"Nothing at all, my lady. Now, Sansa, what do mean to call this precious babe of yours? Has your lord husband suggested anything?"

Sansa met Arya's eyes before speaking.

"I was thinking that we could name him Eddard."

Arya felt tears stinging her eyes again as she looked back down at her infant nephew.

"Eddard would be perfect."


	4. Chapter 4

Daenerys escorted Arya to the chamber that had been set aside for her after it became obvious that Sansa was tiring again and needed rest. Along the way, Daenerys told her of the members of the small council who would be present when the council was called.

"Lord Baelish has been reinstated as Master of Coin as he was under Robert. Even I can't deny that he had a knack for it. My Unsullied captain, Grey Worm, is Captain of the Gold Cloaks. All of the Gold Cloaks are now Unsullied to ensure their loyalty, but the city guard is still much as it was. Brynden Tully is my Master of Ships; Wyman Manderly's son, Ser Wylis, is my Master of Laws; Varys and Nymeria Sand are my Master of Whispers; and Ser Barristan Selmy is my Lord Commander. I hope you will be able to meet with them as soon as you are rested from your travels."

"Your Grace, if I may ask, is it true that Tyrion Lannister is your Hand?"

Daenerys laughed softly and nodded her head.

"Yes, my lady, he is. As strange as it may seem, he's been a great gift to me, even though I did not trust him the first time we met. He is a Lannister after all. But he advised me to fly west and retake the Iron Throne and has never given me false council since we met."

Arya nodded and before she had a chance to say anything else, they had arrived at her chamber. She opened the doors and found the apartments within spacious and richly furnished. A huge copper tub had been placed in the center of the room.

"A hot bath has been drawn for you and your things have been brought up from the ship. There's bread, cheese, cold chicken, and wine for you if you're hungry. I'll leave you to get refreshed. Send for me when you're ready, we have much to discuss."

Daenerys turned to leave, but something stopped her at the threshold and she turned halfway back to face Arya. Her eyes were suddenly sad and full of a grief that someone her age should not know.

"I know what it's like to only have one person of your family left to you. I hope you find more joy in your sister than I did in my brother."

She said no more as she exited the chamber. The door closed slowly behind her.

What did she mean, Arya wondered, as she helped herself to food and wine. She didn't know much about the last Targaryens, just that Daenerys and her brother had escaped to the free cities when Daenerys was just a baby. What had become of her brother was a mystery to Arya and she didn't want to ask in case it brought the kind queen any pain.

Once she had eaten her fill, Arya stripped off her travel soiled clothes and sank into the copper tub. She leaned back and rested her head against the edge of the tub, closing her eyes as she did so. It was not until she did this that she fully understood everything that had happened to her that day. I can't believe I'm in King's Landing again, Arya thought, not to mention in the Red Keep. What was it Daenerys wanted of her? Arya had been too preoccupied with seeing Sansa again to even ask what the Queen and the small council wanted to discuss with her.

The bath water soon grew cool and Arya climbed out and went in search of her clothes. She found them in a large chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out her most courtly attire. A knee-length tunic dyed deep purple and matching shin-length leggings, brown leather sandals that laced up to the bottom of her tunic, and a simple silver bracelet. On top of it all, she pulled on the painted leather vest that laced up the front. She tied her hair in a loose braid that trailed down her back and inspected herself in the tall mirror that had been provided for her.

She had filled out in the years she had spent in Braavos. Her hips were wider, legs longer, arms more muscular. Her chest was more definitive and her face would never again pass for a boy's, as it had when she was a child. There was no mistaking her for anything other than a woman, now. But despite all the growing her had done, she still looked like a commoner. She frowned at her reflection and thought how little she looked like someone who belonged at court.

"Stupid," She spat. "They call me 'my lady', but that can't be what they see. I'm not a lady, I'm No One. Just a plain face in a crowd."

She didn't understand why it bothered her now when it never had before. Perhaps it had been seeing Sansa again that had reminded her that she had none of her sister's beauty. She shook her head and belted her sword belt around her waist before poking her head out the door to tell the guard outside to inform the Queen that she was ready to hold council.


	5. Chapter 5

"My lady Stark, we are so lucky to be graced with your presence today. How lovely you look."

Arya hadn't been in the council chambers more than a few seconds before a bald man with plump cheeks who smelled of lavender had clasped her calloused hand in his soft, powdered one. She recoiled at the cloying sweetness that poured off of him and was made even more uncomfortable at the unnatural friendliness. It was the kind of falseness that made people spill their secrets before they ever saw the knife in the dark.

"The least you could do was wait until she got through the door, Varys." A sharp voice interjected before Arya had a chance to say anything.

The voice belonged to a man dressed in black scale armor with a grizzled beard well salted with gray seated at the long table on the other side of the room. His eyes were sharp and surveyed her with thinly veiled curiosity.

"He's only trying to be pleasant, Blackfish. Maybe you could learn from him," A fat man with a merman sewn onto his doublet commented from where he stood. "We are most glad to have our Lady Arya returned to us."

The fat man bowed to her and introduced himself as Wylis Manderly. Arya was thoroughly overwhelmed by then, but her eyes still saw as Syrio had taught her to. She did not fail to note that neither the Queen nor Tyrion Lannister were yet present, but every other member had assembled. The black-haired, tan-skinned, sharp-eyed woman dressed in a flowing robe of yellow silk could only have been Nymeria Sand and although she was a woman, Arya still noticed the presence of a slender knife at her hip. The Blackfish was similarly armed and Ser Wylis had a long sword at his side. Varys, unarmed as he was, was the one who unsettled her the most. It was something about the hushed way he walked and his eyes were too quick and clever by half. Petyr Baelish occupied a seat almost inconspicuously, but his eyes were sharp and his half smile made him look like he knew something everyone in the room had been too slow to understand.

"You look like your aunt." The Blackfish's sharp voice said, interrupting her thoughts, although it could not have taken her more than a moment to take everything in.

"I look nothing like Lyanna." Arya replied harshly. A little too harshly, but the encounter with Varys had made her forget her courtesies.

But the Blackfish only laughed.

"Aye, you look like her and have her stubbornness. Your mother had a touch of it herself and your uncle Brandon more than a touch."

Before Arya can reply, the door to the council chambers opened and Daenerys stepped inside. Tyrion Lannister waddled in beside her, his short legs making his gait awkward, and behind him was a face she thought she would never see again, a face that she had left behind in another life.

"Lady Arya, I believe you've met-" The Queen begins.

"You." Arya breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He looked the same, that bastard boy. His eyes were the same bright blue, his arms were covered with the same small burn scars, and his face had the same stupid, stubborn expression on it that it did when they were young. His arms and chest were more muscled and the shadow of a beard covered his jaw, but he was still Gendry; the stupid orphan blacksmith's boy who had run halfway across the realm at her side.

"You left me." She said, her voice rising.

"My lady…" Tyrion said, stepping forward with one hand raised as if he was going to try to quell the anger he could see rising in her.

"You and your Brotherhood without Banners were going to sell me! I thought you were my friend, but you left me for them! I trusted you and you betrayed me for a handful of men pretending to be heroes! Did they really mean more to you than I did? I could have been your family!" She was shouting now, her face hot.

"No. You would have been m'lady." He wouldn't meet her eyes and chose to stare at the floor instead.

"What are you even doing here? You're just a stupid bastard from Flea Bottom! You don't belong here, no more than…" She stopped abruptly. She had almost said that he belonged here no more than she did.

"My lady," Tyrion began again, so quiet he was almost whispering. "Gendry is the heir of house Baratheon. He is Robert's eldest trueborn son."

The realization of what they meant to do washed over her like cold water and in a split second, all the blood that had rushed to her cheeks drained out completely.

"You mean to marry me off." Her voice was no louder than a summer breeze, but in the dead silence of the council chambers it sounded like an explosion.

"Lady Arya, this is nothing to fuss yourself over. It's normal for young ladies of high birth-" Ser Wylis began.

"You lured me here to marry this traitorous bastard! You can't marry off Sansa, so you're settling for me! Well, I won't do it! I'd rather die than marry him!" Arya shouted, loud enough that Varys tittered nervously.

Suddenly, she couldn't stand to be in the chamber with all of them anymore. Their pitying, disappointed faces were all too much for her. She spun around and yanked open the heavy door, dashing out into the corridor before any of them could stop her.


	6. Chapter 6

Arya sprinted across courtyards, down steps, and through deserted rooms before she tripped over a loose stone in the floor that sent her sprawling onto the rough ground. Tears stung and blurred her eyes as she pushed herself into a sitting position and leaned back against a wall. She rubbed at them angrily and tried not to sob aloud. The knees of her leggings were torn and the skin beneath was bloody. She watched as the redness soaked into the fabric and tried not to think about Gendry. But he crept into her mind nonetheless.

He had been her only friend when Hot Pie left. He had been her constant companion since her father died. She had killed men beside him, had struggled to survive with him, and he had been the only one who had known her secret until the Hound had blurted it out to the Brotherhood. None of this stopped him from leaving her, from turning his back on her. Why would he have followed them? He hadn't even known them then, not like had known her, anyway.

She heard feet scraping against the stone as someone approached, breaking apart her thought. She hurriedly made to stand up, but it was too late, he had already seen her. She sunk back down the the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in her arms so he wouldn't see her tears.

"He told us that you might react like that, you know." A gruff voice said.

Arya didn't respond as her great uncle settled onto the floor beside her.

"He told us a lot about you. He's tight-lipped on anything regarding himself, but he'll talk about you for hours. You went all over the realm with him, why do you hate him so much?"

"He betrayed me."

"Did he, now? Well, this may not count for much, but I don't think he did."

"You weren't there. You don't know anything." She spat defensively, lifting her head to glare at him.

"That may be so, but the way I see it, you left him." He replied, eyeing her coolly.  
"I did not! I would never turn my back on my friends! If the Hound hadn't captured me, I would never have left!" She bit her lip to keep from crying. He didn't understand, none of them did.

"You would have eventually. One way or another, that boy was going to lose you. Whether it was to your family or your enemies, you would have been out of his reach. At Riverrun you would have been a high lady, unattainable for even the best looking of blacksmith boys and with your enemies, you would have been ransomed or killed. I don't which he feared more." He took out a dagger and began cleaning under his nails unconcernedly, as if they were having a conversation about the weather.

"That's stupid. He wasn't afraid of losing me. He had other people to be his friends. I only had him." It shamed her to admit it, how cripplingly dependent on him she had been.

"Aye, maybe he joined the Brotherhood so he had something like family when you left, but it was so he'd be somewhere he thought he mattered. If he followed you, what would he have become? Just another servant. You were high born and he was still just a bastard then."

"You make it sound like he loves me." She said sarcastically.

"If you've spent as long as I have in one court or another, you learn to recognize what people are actually saying when they open their mouths."

Arya dropped her head back onto her knees and didn't speak for a long time, but the Blackfish stayed next to her. He didn't pester her and she was grateful for that.

"What do I do?" She asked him softly.

"Your grandfather, my brother, tried for years to get me to marry and he never succeeded. We fought about it every time we saw each other and he went to his grave without pairing me off to a lady. I'm your eldest living family and I won't push you into this marriage, but know that that boy is not to blame. Whatever you do, make sure he knows it, too." He looked at her gravely, breaking his air of nonchalance.

Brynden rose steadily to his feet and stretched his back before offering her a hand.

"I would be pleased if you would join me for supper tonight, niece."

"You mean you don't hate me for what I said?"

"I find it hard to hate someone who reminds me so much of Cat."

Arya looked at his scarred and heavily calloused hand for a moment before taking it in her much smaller one.


	7. Chapter 7

_***Disclaimer*** This chapter contains somewhat adult themes_

Arya tossed and turned fitfully that night. The quiet supper with her uncle had helped to push her anger and frustration to the back of her mind, but now that she was alone, she was unable to calm herself. The Blackfish's words with her early had stirred something in her that confused her and with nothing to distract her thoughts, she was unable to ignore it.

Gendry couldn't possible have loved her. She was Arya Horseface, Lumphead, Weasel. She had none of the looks of her sister, no ladylike courtesies. She had been a dirty little gutter rat when he had met her. How could anyone love a girl like that? But everything her uncle had said had made it sound like Gendry had been heartbroken to see her go. Why, after all these years, would he still care about her? He had to have known other girls far better than he had known her.

She couldn't help imagining Gendry with other girls. The images came unbidden and unwanted; of him telling another girl that he loved her while he stared into her eyes; of him on top of another girl, sweating and whispering her name while her fingers ran through his hair. It made her angry and ashamed for reasons that she couldn't explain

She lay in her bed with the blankets tangled around her legs for hours, mulling over what Gendry might or might not feel for her until a soft knock on the door jerked her back from her thoughts. She rolled off the bed, padded across the cold floor on feet made unsteady by lack of sleep, and opened the door. The person outside was holding a candle and the sudden brightness made her shield her eyes and it was only after she had blinked for several moments that she was able to see them.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed, eyes still squinting against the light.

"I couldn't sleep. I wanted to apologize. Will you let me in?" His shirts was rumpled, like he'd just picked it up off the floor and he wasn't wearing any shoes. His hair was a mess and the black stubble on his cheeks made him look haggard.

"Apologize for what? Dragging me here under false pretenses or deserting me to a band of stupid rebels?"

"Will you let me in?" He asked again stubbornly.

She stood there glaring at him for a moment before opening the door wider to let him know he was free to come in. He brushed past her and set the candle he had been holding on the table by her bed, leaving the lingering scent of cloves in the air behind him. He stood awkwardly, his gaze shifting between her and the floor and Arya was suddenly aware that her thin tunic made even her small breasts uncomfortably visible. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him to speak, her anxiety mounting.

"I told them you would be angry with me. They didn't want to believe me when I said just how stubborn you can be. I told them you'd never marry me or anyone else." He looked away from her as he said it, unable to meet her eyes.

"Well you were right about that." She snapped, instantly regretting it. The emotion that crossed Gendry's face was one of almost physical pain.

"I never wanted to leave you," He said quietly after a long time. "I joined them because I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"That's a lie. You could have come with me."

"And done what," He spat, his sudden anger making her jump. "Watched from the smithy as you went back to being a little lady? You would have gone back to being a lord's daughter and I would have been forgotten about. I would have grown old and died without ever being near you again. I'm only here now because Robert Baratheon fucked my mum, that's the only reason I'm allowed to be anywhere close to you."

"You would have had plenty of other girls to pay attention to!" Ones who didn't have a horse face, she thought.

"What do I look like? My father? I'm not the kind of man who fondles every passing serving girl and has lain with more women than he can count."

"You would have had someone! You probably already have!"

Her words stopped him dead. Color rushed into his cheeks and he ran his hand self consciously through his hair.

"You mean...You haven't…" Arya's face was hot with embarrassment, but a small part of her is relieved for reasons she doesn't understand.

"I was too busy looking for you." He mumbled, his eyes falling to the floor.

Arya breathed in sharply and felt her face flush bright red as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. All the anger had drained out of her to be replaced with...what? Shame? Guilt? She had spent so long telling herself that he hadn't cared about her, because if he had, he would have come looking for her when it turns out that he had been doing just that. It had been so much easier that way, to let her convince herself that she hadn't meant anything to him and that he hadn't meant anything to her.

"Isn't that what you wanted me to say? That I've spent the past six years looking for you because I didn't know what else to do without you? I gave up having a life and a family chasing you and the only reason I let them drag me here was because I thought that, just maybe, I'd get to see you again. But now that you're here, every worry I wasted nights thinking about has come true and you don't want anything to do with me." His voice was shaky and when he met her gaze, she saw that his eyes shone with suppressed tears.

And suddenly she couldn't stand the thought of him hurting, especially because of her. Her uncle had been right, this wasn't his fault and he needed to know that. She closed the distance between them hesitantly, afraid that if she tried to get near him he would reject her and unsure of what she was going to do if he didn't. But he knew what he needed, what they both needed, far better than she had.

She drew near him and he cupped her chin in his calloused blacksmith hands and when her grey eyes met his blue ones, every emotion that they had kept secret from each other, and from themselves, for so long came pouring out, though neither of them uttered a word. She felt the pain that he had held inside for years, every agonizing moment that he had spent blaming himself for her disappearance and every second that he had spent telling himself that he wasn't good enough for her, that he would always be beneath her, whether she saw it or not. In that moment she knew that, for him, it had only ever been her and that no matter how hard she had tried to deny it or hide it from herself, he had been the one who had truly meant something to her.

His lips brushed softly against hers at first, apprehensively, like he was scared he might hurt her, but when he didn't feel her pull away he tangled his hand into her hair, yanking her to his chest. She gasped as his mouth crushed down hard on hers, his tongue flitting between her teeth tasting of cloves and wine. He lifted her off her feet one handed, her legs weaving around his waist as he laid her roughly on the bed, his weight pressed down on her. He broke away from her lips and buried his face in her neck, his breath roaring in her ears, his teeth leaving red marks all the way to her collar bone. His hand climbed slowly up the inside of her shift, his fingers trailing across her hips, her rib and when his thumb brushed against her nipple and she almost moaned aloud.

Her eyes snapped open, eyes that she hadn't realized she had closed, when she felt his weight on her disappear. She lifted herself up on her elbows, breathing heavily, and saw him halfway across the room, a look of panic and confusion on his face.

"You're a lady. No matter how many times they tell me I'm a lord, I'll never be good enough for you. I'll still just be a bastard." He hissed through clenched teeth, his face flushed with embarrassment.

He whirled around, nearly ripping the door off its hinges, and threw himself into the dark corridor.

"Gendry, don't!" She shouted after him.

But the door had already slammed behind him, the sound echoing in the cavernous chamber. Arya blew out the candle and felt the tears rolling down her cheeks before her head hit the pillows.


	8. Chapter 8

The godswood smelled of spicy pine and years of decaying leaves. It felt warm and close under the confines of the canopy the ancient trees formed above her, but Arya didn't care. The anger that boiled inside her was hotter than any day that King's Landing could produce. It was anger at Gendry for making her feel something, anything, for him again after all these years; it was anger at her uncle for making her believe that blaming Gendry had been wrong; it was anger at the small council and the Queen and her sister and everyone else that had had anything to do with dragging her here; it was anger at herself for trusting any of them.

She slashed viciously with Needle at a sapling that had the misfortune of growing next the path she was walking on.

"Weese. Dunsen. Chiswyck."

She struck a bush, ripping leaves and limbs in two.

"Polliver. Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler."

She swiped at a slender ash, making it shake like a maiden on her wedding night.

"The Hound. Ser Gregor. Ser Amroy."

"Ser Ilyn. Ser Meryn. King Joffrey. Queen Cersei."

Bark ripped, moss tore, grass blades whirled in the air. Most of the names were pointless now, some of them were dead by her own hand, but she felt a certain comfort in saying them outloud. She wondered if she should add Gendry to the list.

The godswood had no heart tree, none of the godswoods in the South did, but it had hot spring-fed pools just like Winterfell did. Had. It was best not to think of Winterfell at all, she scolded herself. It only made things worse. She stared down into the pool at her ragged reflection and nearly spat in contempt.

The sound of a twig breaking underfoot behind her drew her attention. She listened the way the blindness had taught her and stayed facing away from whoever was trying to sneak up the path. They were so close she could practically hear them breathing. Her grip tightened on Needle as she waited for them to get closer. A leaf crunched dryly not six feet behind her, causing her to spin around with teeth bared and Needle raised.

"What are you doing here you filthy bastard?" She hissed before she got a good look at who had been trying to sneak up on her, her anger proceeding her.

The point of the slender blade was hovering just above the hollow of his throat and he raised his hands in mock surrender, though the expression on his face was one of amusement.

"A girl is too kind." He said with a laugh.

"Jaqen! What are you doing here? I went looking for you in Braavos, but…" She lowered the point of her sword and allowed herself to relax.

She had to fight the urge to hug him. Maybe he hadn't been a real friend, but she had always thought of him as one.

"A girl should not be so quick to drop her guard. A girl knows me not for friend or enemy."

"If you had wanted to kill me, you wouldn't have made so much noise, stupid," She sheathed Needle and crossed her arms. "You didn't answer my question."

"A girl cuts to the point like a knife. A man is here to tell her of the whisperings of little birds."  
"Birds? What do stupid birds have to do with anything?"  
"The birds have told a man of the secret plans for the heir of Baratheon. They are plans of poison and death and blacker magic than even a man has ever seen." The last trace of mirth disappeared from around his lips and his eyes turned grave.

"Gendry? Someone means to kill Gendry?" She dropped her arms back to her sides, one hand tightening on Needle's hilt.

"Does a girl care for a boy? A boy betrayed her or so she thinks. Why would a girl want to help a boy?" The teasing was seemingly light-hearted, but Arya knew he was testing her.

"Why would you tell me he was in danger if you thought I wouldn't help him?" She asked hotly.

"A man did not know if a girl cared enough, but a girl has proved a man wrong. And a girl."

"Just because I don't like him doesn't mean I want him dead!"

"No? Them what does a girl make her list for?"

Arya's only reply was to glare at him until his knowing gaze forced her to break eye contact and stare at the ground. For a while, the only sound was of the birds in the pines and the babble of the pools.

"Who wants to kill him?" She asked, breaking the silence.

"A woman, as red as fire, with the fate of a king on her shoulders. A king with no crown that could destroy a queen."

"Do you mean Stannis? Stannis is weak and hiding and he could never hurt Daenerys. And anyway, what does that have to do with Gendry?"  
"If a boy is found dead, the Stormlands will blame a queen. They will rally to a king in all their strength and all the plotting and planning will be lost. A queen will lose the Stormlands and her pretty head when an army overtakes a city."

"The Stormlands haven't even accepted Gendry, they don't trust him because he's a bastard."

"If a boy is found dead, they will weep false tears to kill a queen"

"They'll lie to kill the Queen?"

"A girl finally understand." Jaqen shook his head in exasperation.

"But what can I do? Why would you tell me all this in the first place? I can't kill Stannis from wouldn't you tell the Queen?" All this talk was giving her a headache.

"A queen suspects, that is why a girl is here. A girl must marry a boy and silence the realm."

Arya's nostrils flared in rage and her grip on Needle tightened to the point where it felt as if her fingers might break.

"You're just like everyone else in this bloody city! You won't be happy until I'm wedded and bedded and start popping out children! Well, I don't care what happens to this stinking city or any of the people in it! And why do you even care? What does Westeros mean to you?"

Jaqen moved so quickly Arya nearly jumped out of her skin. His face pressed close to hers, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"A girl does not know of what she speaks, she does not know of how hard a man has worked to set actions in motion. If a queen falls and takes a city with her, a realm will burn and all will be undone. A girl has an uncle, a nephew," He paused. "A sister. A girl does not wish to lose them. A girl will marry the boy to save them if she does not do it for the realm."

"Are you threatening my family? If I hadn't saved you all those years ago, you would have cooked like a pig on a spit!"

"A man does not threaten. A man speaks the truth and a girl will listen or everyone she knows will die. A man knows." Jaqen stared at her hard, as if willing her to understand.

She closed her eyes and sighed. She didn't bother looking for him once she opened them, she knew he was already gone.


End file.
